


Services Rendered

by ImhereImQuire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M, Massage, Power Imbalance, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImhereImQuire/pseuds/ImhereImQuire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tywin Lannister often ends up suffering from his tension and requires the services of a skilled masseur.</p><p>Satin is more than a little intimidated by this anonymous but clearly important man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Services Rendered

_Do not lie to him._

_Do not seek to flatter him._

_Do not attempt to draw him into idle chatter._

_At all times be respectful._

_And above all things remember that you are being paid in gold for your discretion._

He was there as a servant and the way it had been explained to him this was not so much a lie as the context in which he should consider himself for the purposes of the commission.

The rules were clearly laid out for him, and he went over them again in his head as he smoothed out his tunic, awaiting his caller. They were simple enough instructions, though all but all the last ran counter to his own intuition and he found himself growing nervous. He didn’t know who this mystery patron was, but they had paid gold in advance, and the manse that they were living in was lavish as any Satin had seen, inside or out. Someone important, that was clear. With exacting standards.

It seemed an age before the man of the house entered. Straight backed and bald headed, the man was most likely in his late forties, perhaps his fifties, the same as many of his clients, though he held himself more like a soldier than a maester, chilling the air where he stood, or so it felt to the youth in that moment as he was scrutinised.

“Are you clean?”

Satin blinked, but he did not falter in his speech. “I am, my lord,” he said carefully. The instructions were very clear in that regard; bathe well, adorn yourself with lemon scented oil and take no other man beforehand, and he had followed them exactly.

“Are you as skilled as you have been sold as?”

Satin nodded. “I’m told that I have the finest hands in the realm, for what you require, my lord,” he said, swallowing as the older man’s eyes narrowed.

“An unlikely boast, but we shall see” the man said, clearly unimpressed.

He touched the boy’s chin with a single digit, turning his face first left, then right, searching for some flaw which might merit rejection, and though he pursed his lips as he made study of the youth’s jawline he eventually nodded.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Great pains have been taken-“ the boy began, only to be cut off.

“That isn’t what I asked. Do you know who I am?”

Satin shook his head. “You’re the man who has paid me gold. More than that I neither know nor care to, my lord,” he said.

“Drop the accent. It’s obviously affected. You are not highborn,” he noted with disdain and an embarrassed flush flooded the other’s cheeks.

The silence stretched between them, as Satin sought to overcome his self-consciousness before replying. “Yes, m’lord.”

“You’re mumbling.”

“Yes, m’lord,” the boy replied more loudly, eyes lowered with evident shame. He’d always considered himself the better class of prostitute, like one of those Braavosi courtesan with their barges and made a point of styling himself as such, in both dress and manner. Having his airs stripped from him made him feel awkward and exposed in a way he hadn’t since he was far newer to the profession and he was relieved when the older man walked past him, to sit in the only chair in the room.

Satin took a breath, and followed him.

“Wine, m’lord?” he asked and when the man nodded he poured only a single goblet. Most men he’d been with would have almost certainly have wanted him to drink with them, but he could tell already that this caller was not ‘most men’, so he knelt on the rug in front of him and  merely watched him drink, holding his tongue as per his instructions.

The man, for his part, took his time with his wine, and drank half of contents of his goblet before speaking.

“My boots” he said, extending a leg. Satin nodded, sliding his lap beneath the other’s ankle and began to pick at the knot behind the other’s knee. The leather was soft and well shone but gods but the strings were tightly laced, each criss-crossed with perfect symmetry, meeting in the exact middle and drawn in until the skin beneath must have cried out.

By the time the second boot joined the first his fingertips smarted with the burn from the hemp, and the man had finished his wine, the goblet set down in the precise centre of the table. Satin looked up at the sound, awaiting some show of disapproval and when none came he let out a breath.

“And now my doublet” was the only response, and Satin rose gracefully to obey. These laces  too were tightened to the point of corsetry, but it was not to done to hold in the gut as was so common for men of his age. In truth there was little fat on him, the body revealed when his shirt was removed as hard and pared down as his manner.

No words were spoken when the older man moved to the bed, and he didn’t look to see if he were followed before he lay himself out, chin rest upon his hands, and it was only when Satin went to oil his hands that he received any instruction.

“No.” The word was spoken with undisguised revulsion. “Dry hands.”

Satin felt an unusually intense sense of shame at being corrected again, but all he said was. “As m’lord wills,” putting first one knee upon the bed, then the other, settling himself at the other’s side.

It felt strange to be laying hands upon so intimidating a man, and he hesitated momentarily, taking a deep breath to steel himself against the fear of… disapproval, he supposed, or of being dismissed, though he had every certainty that this was a man capable of inflicting things more terrifying than then the most scathingly delivereddressing down.

Still, it was contempt rather than violence that he feared as he contemplated the bared expanse of the older man’s back, needing to take a deep breath before he could bring himself to begin.

He’d never seen anyone quite so tense in his life, he thought to himself as he began to work upon the other’s muscles, and despite his words about having been given gold enough not to care as to the man’s identity he couldn’t help but wonder what burdens the hard knotted shoulders beneath his hands had known.

“Start higher. The base of the skull” the man said dispassionately, and Satin’s hand froze for a moment before bringing his delicate fingers to pinch along the hollow where column met dome.

“Ah, yes.” the man remarked in much the same manner as one might draw attention to a small detail upon an engraved piece of armour. “There. That’s where I stiffen… and if there is a bawdy comment on your lips I suggest you swallow it,” he added, and there was more than a note of threat to the words. In truth he had thought of some playful banter the moment the lord had spoken of stiffness, but he would never have admitted it to his patron’s face.

“I’m here to tend your body, m’lord. Nothing more,” the youth said, his tone carefully measured, similarly dispassionate. He couldn’t see the other’s expression, but the shift of the skin beneath his fingers suggested that the other’s jaw had begun to unclench, and the tacit approval was a welcome relief.

He continued in silence then, pinching and pressing the length of the other’s body and through it all his patron gave no other criticism of his work save the occasional command that he show greater firmness or harder pressure and a single awful moment where he placed a hesitant hand upon the other’s arse and was sharply rebuffed with a menacing “Not if you wish to keep it, whore.”

It was hard going for a long while and his hands soon began to ache but he persisted; drawing the tension from unyielding flesh until at last the muscles began to roll with his hands rather than resisting their motions.

From then the man had him no further criticism and it  gave Satin a strange sense of elation for the lord he was servicing wouldn’t have accepted anything less than perfection, and the silence was a higher praise than any flattery he had ever known and it affected his pride more than he ever would have admitted.

“Enough” came the call to desist, after a long, long while, far more abruptly than Satin had expected from someone who had seemed drowsy only moments before. Obediently he lifted his hands and placed them in his lap, awaiting further instruction. The lord pushed himself up on his hands and sat up, swinging his long legs over the side.

“On the floor” he commanded and Satin nodded and did as he was bid, kneeling between the man’s splayed knees, gazing up at him in mute expectation of the service he was expected to perform. “Place your hands behind your back and do not move”.

The act itself was as without intimacy as the rest.

The man gazed upon the pretty youth as he stroked himself with brusque, jerking motions and Satin remained frozen as he was bid, scarcely daring to breath for fear of disrupting the other’s pleasure.

The seed had not yet dried upon the pretty youth’s face before he was banished with a wave of the hand.

“Now you will wipe the mess from your face, take the gold coin from the table and leave by the back stairs.” the man told him as he tucked away his prick once more.

 “You will speak of this to no one, or I will have your throat slit. If anyone asks about the services you have provided today you will tell them nothing, but you will send word to me discretely and I will pay you double what they promise you in exchange for their name.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly. “If I even suspect that you saw it as an opportunity for blackmail then I will have you scourged _then_ I will have your throat slit. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, my lord. Only...” the boy hesitated before finishing his sentence. “If that happened how would I find you again?”

The man smiled ever so slightly then and while it did not make him remotely ugly it was far from a pleasant sight. “Are you familiar with ‘The Rains of Castamere’?”


End file.
